


Lips Sealed

by J_L_R



Category: Robin Hood (2018), Robin Hood - All Media Types
Genre: Blushing Men, Body Worship, Comfort, Dom John, F/M, Flashbacks, Hand Jobs, Historical Anachronisms, Light BDSM, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Scars, Sub Robin, Switch John, Switch Robin, Voice Kink, plot what plot?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2019-09-14 09:57:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16910796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_L_R/pseuds/J_L_R
Summary: “It’s normal to want to be physically close to someone when you sleep, especially for men who have seen and been where we have. I would rather you seek me for peace, than endure on your own and injure us both in your sleep horrors.”The red had again blossomed on Robins cheeks, and in the exhaustion of a long day as well as the low firelight Yahya was unable to avoid his admiration.





	1. They Talk About Us

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Melting](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16812439) by [rileywrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rileywrites/pseuds/rileywrites). 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If fear is the great enemy of intimacy, then love is its true friend." - Henri Nuewen

Yahya hears the talk. The English are a far more chatty culture than his homeland, seeming to bond and take comfort in the near hourly exchange of words. Mostly it is mundane, daily tasks and record  keeping. Sometimes it is trivial, opinions on inconsequential topics. Rarely it is intriguing, as is the case with the current hushed whisper.

“All I’m sayin’ is not even Marian gets ta spend the night. Don’t it seem bit strange tha John goes ta bed down with ‘im ev’ry night ‘cept when we’re runnin’ som’thin’?” Greene thinks he’s being subtle, but Yahya is sure the years in the mines have ruined most of the group’s finer hearing, his whisper is audible over the general noise of dinner even at five strides away. He pretends not to notices and waits, working steadily through his pottage, trenchers, and ale.

“Gah, yer o’er thinkin’ it,” Dunn waves him off before taking a swallow from his cup. “Rob says ‘e made t’right mess tryin’ ta ‘elp, says John sav’d ‘im o’re in Moors’ land, yea? Tha poor bastart follow’d the dafty eejit t’all way ‘ere, bless ‘em booth. Man don’ go doin’ things like tha o’er a shag, Ah don’ care ‘ow gud.”

The burly man scratched into his wooly black beard before running his hand thoughtfully over his chin. “War ‘s ah smithy’s ‘ammer, can forge men clos’r than kin s’long as it dunnit break ‘em first.” His blue eyes locked hard onto Greene. “ ‘Side, even if they were shaggin’, what diff’rence does tha make? Rob’s still our mate an’ leader, same wid John. S’long as Rob does ‘is lordly duty a’ some point, Ah don’ care.”

Even months later Yahya still at times had trouble with Dunn’s manner of speaking; his accent and mixture of his native tongue’s pronunciation sometimes even challenged the English. Robin had once mentioned that Dunn was from the far North, from a land and people known as ‘Scotts’. Thankfully this time he’d understood the most of it, as it appeared had Greene.

The smaller man stared a moment at the fire before rolling his shoulders, “I s’pose tha’s true. Long as it s’not me ‘e’s buggerin’.” With that it appeared both men considered the discussion over as Greene rose to refill his cup and Dunn took a much more leisurely pull from his.

Yahya chewed the last few bites of his pottage slowly, soaking up the lingering gravy with his remaining bread as he contemplated.

Two of the men had given at least passing thought to Robin and his sleeping arrangements and had developed views enough to discuss. It wasn’t what he’d anticipated, men sharing quarters to the exclusion of their wives and concubines was so customary it was nearly expected in his homeland; especially for men of any rank as Robin and himself were. It appeared though that here, at least for those of lesser rank, men were expected to bed down with their wives and female lovers; only seeking the company of non-familial men in times of battle, travel, or harsh weather.

Yet Robin had never said a word to him.

Not the first night together when Yahya had laid their bedrolls by the firepit, nor when he’d followed after him into the tent. Not even in the months since that Yahya had continued pulling the younger to bed, worn and sore from training or jobs.

He supposed given Robin’s four years in Arabia it was possible the younger man had become accustomed to war sleeping arrangements as well as the local customs. Though, he did sleep ‘alone’ on the ship.

But he’d slept fitfully, plagued by sleep horrors that seemed to be pressing him to the brink of madness.

They’d not been even friendly then, the younger not even aware of him, but the terror and anguish in the Englishman’s shouts had been familiar from his own kabuus as well as his men’s. More than once Robin had thrashed so wildly he’d fallen from his hammock, pale blue eyes clouded with panic, his brow and shirt soaked through even as he shivered. Yahya had no pity for him, the soldier had more than earned his anguish for the savagery he’d committed, but the older man did empathize. If war was a blacksmith’s hammer for the bonds of men, then it was also the assassin’s poison for their sanity.

It was after a particularly bad night that had left the younger man shaking so badly his teeth chattered while unable to even stand so a crewman had dumped him into his hammock like so much cargo, that Yahya had resolved to see the Englishman’s soul and sanity kept intact.

Robin had made no comment when his enemy turned ally and trainer had placed their bedrolls less than a finger’s width apart. Yahya had made no comment when he felt the other reach for him in his sleep, and still said nothing when the other quickly extracted his limbs from their clutching hold around the Arab the following morning. Robin’s cheeks had bloomed red, a creeping color that had stained his ears and neck before disappearing below his shirt collar. He’d avoided Yahya’s gaze all of the day, the flush returning at times if by chance they did lock eyes.

It was finally over dinner that he’d had enough.

“It’s normal to want to be physically close to someone when you sleep, especially for men who have seen and been where we have. I would rather you seek me for peace, than endure on your own and injure us both in your sleep horrors.”

The red had again blossomed on Robins cheeks, and in the exhaustion of a long day as well as the low firelight Yahya was unable to avoid his admiration. He was old and broken, not dead.

“Nightmares.”

“What?”

Robin had bashfully rubbed the back of his neck before meeting the Arab’s eyes, the pale blue reflecting the dancing gold of the fire.

“We call them, the ‘sleep horrors’, nightmares.”

Yahya had nodded his understanding, before beginning to bank the fire. “Go rinse the bowls and spoons, be quick.” The Englishman hadn’t argued, strangely he never did, and in the short time it took him to clean their tableware Yahya had their bedrolls settled in by the warmth of the coals.

They’d settled in, though Yahya had noticed Robin was closer than he’d been the night prior. Still not touching, but close enough that he could see the faint strands of green in the young man’s eyes. “Sleep English,” he murmured, drowsy now that he’d laid down, “ we have much to do.”

The final time that night Robin’s cheeks flared, this time the soft delicate pink of the carnations Yahya’s wife had once kept. It was so easy to see on his pale skin, gone paler in the months spent within the ship heading north. For a moment it seemed perhaps he’d say something, but instead just nodded, closing his eyes. Yahya was nearly disappointed to have their colors, so different from the common brown and prized greened hazels of his homeland, shuttered; still he was again pleased when it seemed the younger swiftly drifted off and again reached for him.

Since that second night they’d fallen into a routine of sorts, and now Robin did not even pretend. He reached for Yahya once they were both settled. Sometimes just a hand buried into the Arab’s shirt and others, after hard jobs or bad nights, he pressed the length of himself to burrow into the side of the older man. Robin’s nightmares had eased some, but he did not want anyone beyond Yahya to see him “a blatherin’ fuckin’ mess”.

Marian had made no comment on the arrangement, beyond once to joke at Robin’s expense, “He’s a hearth, I’d wake up as if running a fever!” So much the better for Yahya, who only ever felt warm since leaving home when bundled and next to Robin’s enveloping body heat. In truth beyond the overheard conversation that present evening, the Arab had had no inclination that their arrangement was considered abnormal. Rare, by English standards perhaps, but hardly worthy of speculation.

Meal finished and tableware tended, Yahya made for their tent.

It was still early in the evening, little chance of Robin returning, but he needed time to tend to his other obligations before settling in for what could be a trying conversation. He cleansed himself in the bucket they kept near the entrance before changing into his thobe and sirwal and finally donning his taqiyah. Even sorely missing the melodic call to prayer, the Salah came easily; a lifelong familiar comfort in this strange land.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work does NOT have a BETA, and there is dyslexia present; please be kind :)
> 
> Pottage: A medieval catchall term for literally any combination of food cooked in a pot to create a thick mixture. Water was a common base with left over bones to create a stock, meat when available was added. Whatever fresh greens were in season were often used (leeks, herbs, lovage, nettle, etc) along with harvest crops (fresh or dried) such as grains (primarily barley, rye, and wheat) and peas. Every level of society lived daily off of pottage, the type of pottage just got more fancy (and to be frank less nutritional) the higher up the social ladder you went.
> 
> Trencher: A thick (1-2 inches) slice of bread used either to line plates/bowls or as edible plates/bowls. Even the nobility and royalty had them, but instead of eating them it was generally considered a near mandatory act of charity (and a subtle brag about your wealth) to trenchers along with leftovers into an homage bowl that would then be given to the hungry poor after the meal.
> 
> Kabuus: Arabic pronunciation for Arabic term for ‘nightmare’, the idea is similar to the English nightmare in that a nefarious spirit/demon comes and presses or crushes you in your sleep.
> 
> Thobe: A long robe like garment with long sleeves, fitted at the shoulders and neck, and loose down to around the ankles.
> 
> Sirwal: Loose trousers, short or long, but in this case long.
> 
> Taqiyah: A skullcap, knit or sewn cloth, traditionally white. Headcovers are traditional for men and women of Islam especially for worship.
> 
> I’m pulling my clothing research mostly from here:  
> http://istizada.com/arab-clothing-the-ultimate-guide
> 
>  
> 
> Please if someone is more familiar with ‘medieval’ Arabian men’s prayer clothing, comment with sources :)
> 
>  
> 
> There is a sentence in here that was shamelessly taken from rileywrites, their story ‘Melting’ is wonderful and you should read it; points to anyone who can spot the sentence! They also apparently share my adoration of blushing men ^-^”
> 
>  
> 
> Also to clarify, in the middle ages it would have been VERY weird for ANYONE (peasant, yeoman, merchant, clergy, nobility, or royalty) to sleep alone. It just wasn’t done. This is for reasons both practical (keeping warm, keeping safe from unfriendly forces [human or supernatural], lack of available sleeping space) and philosophical (it was considered bad for your health to be on your own too much, and that sleeping alone could invite bad humors). So, I want to be clear that it’s not weird that Robin shares sleeping space with Yahya (John), it’s just weird that he ONLY shares sleeping space with him. This is a habit more akin to a king (think of Louie the 16th of France and his manservant who slept in a cot at the foot of his bed for DECADES), and the peasant/yeoman/merchant class that Robin and Yahya are mostly with are NOT used to it.
> 
>  
> 
> Also even in the middle ages rumors often flew about if a king or noble was banging a male bestie (women get less side eye about the lesbian thing), but not because ‘sin’ more because it could heavily affect the national and international politics. Robin is a Lord though, so that’s less a concern for him; he and Yahya just get to be gossip fodder. I am taking some liberties and flexibilities because gods know the film does, so why should I be constrained as long as it makes sense within the established rules?
> 
>  
> 
> Thx for reading!  
> -J


	2. The Man Who Wakes Up Next To You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We are afraid to care too much, for fear the other person doesn't care at all." -Eleanor Roosevelt

Yahya was just finishing when he heard the flap of the tent rustle and the thump of Robin’s heavy boots landing next to his own just inside the door. The younger man had been accommodating in the Arab’s preference that their sleeping quarters, that doubled as a prayer space, be treated with as much respect as could be afforded. His socks were near silent on the waxed canvas floor before deadening completely as they transitioned to the thin wool carpet, a small luxury Robin had smuggled into each member’s tent after the last raid.

Rising he turned to find the young man sat comfortably on his bedroll, casually watching Yahya while changing into his night braies and tunic. The Arab turned his eyes away, while war may have removed his shyness he refused to let it divest him of his modesty. Just because the younger felt comfortable in exposing so much skin around him did not mean he should abuse that trust by looking.

“Ya know it’s funny,” Robin began, tone amused, “I used to find your way of dressing, praying, just doing things so strange. Never seen anything like it before the crusade. Back then it just made it more clear you were the enemy. Now…” He looked Yahya up and down, a cheeky grin forming, “It’s just part of home, be weird if it wasn’t there. Ya know?”

“I do,” he agreed easily, carefully removing his prayer sirwal to replace them with the more worn sleep pair, “There are many things I had found strange here that I am now used to.” He paused a moment, pulling the fine white cotton of the thobe over his head to quickly fold it away as well as the taqiyah. He found himself suddenly nervous, his earlier quiet contemplation replaced by a growing unease not unlike the moment before a battle. They needed to talk, if anything so that Yahya could understand why his friend had allowed what he now knew to be an obvious social misstep. This was the ideal opening, still he hesitated.

“Robin.”

“Hm?” Yahya turned to see the younger man watching him with drowsy eyes, hands raised to rest behind his head pulling the thin linen tunic tight over his chest and arms. Months of training under the Arab’s eye had taken an already ore tough frame and worked it to iron strength. It was not the first time he’d been taken by the sight of the Englishman, but now with Greene and Dunn’s conversation swimming in his memory what had always seemed a trusting relaxed lounge now seemed more…provocative. “John?”

He blinked, eyes quick to lock on to the other’s face. His eyes were no longer drowsy, instead bright and focused with a wicked grin tugging at his mouth.

“You sound’d like you wanted somethin’?”

The tone was no different than any other time Robin had teased him in private, but again now knowing what he did, there seemed another layer he’d somehow been deaf to before.

“I overheard some of the men speaking about our sleeping arrangement.”

Robin for all his lack of movement seemed to still, his gaze that had been playful hardening as he stared up at Yahya.

“Yea? What’re the buggers yappin’ on ‘bout now?”

The Arab considered his options carefully. If he simply came out with what Greene and Dunn had been saying, he was certain he’d never get the truth from the younger man. However, he could perhaps bring it up on comparison to his own customs and preferences; keeping the Englishman tied to only their interactions.

“In my homeland, it is not uncommon for men and women to live much more separately than they do here.” He moved with a deliberate casualness as he sat at the foot his bedroll facing the other. The younger man rose up onto his elbows before turning to lay propped on his side, stare still guarded. “Even when I married, my wife and I kept separate sleeping tents. We do not sleep alone though; the men of the house share a tent as do the women. The boys of the family, including my son when he was deemed old enough, visiting male relatives and close friends, as well as servants and slaves. Bedding down every night with other men is no strange thing there, even in times of peace. It seems from what I heard…that is less the custom here?”

A stiff nod followed by stony silence was all he received, though Robin did appear to be listening and waiting. Yahya pressed on.

“I am not upset that you chose to share your nights with me, in my culture it is a sign of deep trust and honor, even affection.” He couldn’t help noticing the flare of color in the younger man’s cheeks at the mention of ‘affection’. He hadn’t meant the term in that manner necessarily, but that would explain a fair amount of their situation. The thought caused an inner surge of heat, the idea that the Englishman perhaps had some of the desires his men had implied.

“What I would like to know,” He lent forward slightly, peering into the younger man’s pool pale eyes, “why do you share this tent with me?”

In all their time together Yahya had never seen Robin appear so helplessly caught. He seemed a rabbit cornered by a desert cat; a visible tremor, muscles tensed for a final attempt to flee, staring the inevitable in the face. There was nothing in this moment the Arab could do to help, he’d forced the courage to ask, it was on the Englishman to have the courage to answer.

They sat for a long moment staring at one another, the din and noise from dinner shifting to the soft strumming of a lute and the crackling of the fire. The worry did form in the older man’s mind that perhaps he’d asked too much, perhaps not only would he receive no answer but perhaps Robin would send him out to sleep somewhere else for even asking such a thing. Perhaps-

The younger man lunged, and all that strength and grappling Yahya had trained was now suddenly being used against him.

The Englishman had him flat on his back, knees tight on his hips, feet hooked over his knees to prevent his legs from being any use. Calloused hands formed manacles around his wrists, the sensitive skin of his left felt scorched worse than when he’d formed his club. The younger man hunched over him, eyes blazing, dark pupils blown, breathing ragged and hot. He attempted to free himself, using the momentum of his hips to leaver up, to try and buck the other off, when he felt it.

The hot firm length of the other undeniably pressed against his hip. With a sharp hiss the younger man’s eyes snapped shut, his jaw clenching as his grip on Yahya’ wrists tightened. A stuttered thrust of the hips found his own length rising and wanting, pulling a short gasp from his throat.

“I _wanted_ you,” Robin breathed against his mouth, “I wanted you, any way I could ‘ave you.”

The searing press of lips against his own caused the older man to groan and firmly roll his hips to rub their lengths hotly together through the layers of cloth. The friction forced a salacious moan from the younger man, which was quickly lost in the nips and invading tongue of deeper kisses. At some point Robin had let go of Yahya’s right wrist, which he took full advantage of to dig his fingers into soft thick locks. He tugged harshly, noticing the agonizingly pleasured sound the action drew, an echoing rush making his cock pulse and ache.

Forcing their mouths apart, both panting, Yahya ran a thumb over Robin’s pomegranate flushed lips, made more lush from their kisses. The blue of the younger man’s eyes a thin ring around wide midnight pupils. That alluring red flared through the Englishman’s cheeks, down his throat, to spread below his collar into his heaving chest.

Here was a Robin so like the one Yahya knew, rash emotion stoked to burning frenzy eagerly seeking any means of release. A man of immediate action when under unanticipated tension. It was charming, an attribute the Arab found both endearing and frustrating. However, beneath the flare of heat in the younger man’s gaze and the aggression in his hold was something gentler. He’d released Yahya’s hand, willingly given up his mouth to be blundered, and yielded when pulled back. This was not untrod ground for the Arab. As fierce as the Englishman was in his display, overwhelming raw emotion was difficult to disguise; he was fearful.

Again tenderly running his thumb over Robin’s bottom lip, “What would you have done had I never said anything?”

“Continued on as we had been probably,” The younger man’s throat worked in a pained swallow. “Maybe try somethin’ when I was drunk enough, claim not rememberin’ if it went bad.”

“Here I thought you braver than that.” Yahya teased, despite feeling a pang at the thought that perhaps that drunken night may have never come.

Robin leaned further forward until their noses brushed each other’s and the warmth of his breath again fanned against the older man’s mouth, “You’re one to talk. I gave you plenty invitation, what was stoppin’ you?”

The Englishman had always known just how to dig into him. Looking back, yes there had been plenty of hints and invitations given. Lingering touches, a joke or tease just a touch too intimate, and how prettily he colored at any praise or pleasure Yahya offered. Still given his age, the war, and Robin’s past with Marian; he’d never truly thought it an option.

“I was a blind and deaf fool, satisfied in what I thought I could have.” it was the truth, plain and simple.

“But you…want me?” The question was hushed and those blue eyes Yahya was learning by the second he craved to have were cast down to the side. So very afraid his English was, even now with their mutual pleasure still hotly pressed between them

He slipped his hand to the nape of Robin’s neck, thumb stroking from throat to hairline as he went. The words came easily to his tongue, “I want you as if you would be gone tomorrow.”

Again burning lips locked with his own, the younger man’s hands greedily running along his arms, shoulders, and chest. Rocking their hips together, Yahya took unyielding possession of the kiss as he again pulled firmly on aleawd locks wrenching out a desperate moan.

Despite himself, Yahya smirked “Can you keep quiet, or would you like to announce us to all the men?”

The Englishman’s huffed laugh slid into a smug grin, “Should worry ‘bout yourself.”

The deliberate thrust of his hips was delicious, but Yahya took the distraction to heave himself up and reverse their positions. Pressing the length of their bodies together, Yahya deliberately rubbed their cocks together while leaning close to the younger man’s ear as the other groaned. Lips flitting against the flushed shell of an ear, the Arab murmured darkly, “So eager, my English, to pull my tail and make me bite.”

He ran his hand down to the nape of the younger’s neck and squeezed, “Let me oblige you."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic does NOT have a Beta and dyslexia is present, please be kind ^-^
> 
> Braies: medieval men’s underwear, also called breeks or breeches. Varying in length from upper-thigh to below the knee, braies could be closed with a drawstring at the waist or cinched with a separate belt around which the top of the garment would be tucked.
> 
> Thobe: A long robe like garment with long sleeves, fitted at the shoulders and neck, and loose down to around the ankles.
> 
> Sirwal: Loose trousers, short or long, but in this case long.
> 
> Taqiyah: A skullcap, knit or sewn cloth, traditionally white. Headcovers are traditional for men and women of Islam especially for worship.
> 
> Aleawd: Arabic for aegar wood. This wood is a mottled medium to dark brown, but it’s true value comes from the prized scent used for incense and perfume. This wood is prized throughout the middle east in both historic and modern times. I’m using it as a positive, and slightly romantic, descriptor much like how someone who is in lust/love would describe their lover as having mahogany, wheat, golden, copper, or jet hair. Is this a real term used in Middle Eastern cultures? Not that I’m aware of.
> 
> I’m pulling my clothing research mostly from here:
> 
> http://istizada.com/arab-clothing-the-ultimate-guide/
> 
> https://www.thoughtco.com/medieval-underwear-1788621
> 
> Please if someone is more familiar with ‘medieval’ Arabian men’s prayer clothing, comment with sources :)
> 
> Well, that heated up more quickly than I anticipated. Maybe I should tag this Pw/oP? I’m playing fast and loose with the plot here, but it is Robin Hood and the film seems to live for barely held together story lines; so it seems I’m in good company!
> 
> A word here about Robin’s lunge for John and the results, this is NOT how one should go about trying to initiate things with someone unless things have been discussed prior. Remember, a lack of a no is NOT a yes, and an enthusiastic yes is always the best policy. But Robin and John have some unhealthy coping and communication skills, so while I would love for them to sit down and negotiate everything nice and proper and have a firm ‘yes I’m totally interested in sex and a relationship with you’ that just isn’t realistic for where they are at right now. 
> 
> On a final note, I’ve been thrilled with the positive response I’ve gotten from this babyfandom and I hope you all continue to enjoy this! Thank you so much for the kudos, bookmarks, and comments; they’re extremely appreciated and loved!
> 
> Thx for reading!  
> -J


	3. Lovers Kept Under Covers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “In order to really love someone you must love them as though they were going to die tomorrow.” – An Arabic Proverb (very loosely translated)

Yahya would be lying if he said he’d never once imagined Robin spread on a sedir or quilts, flushed and wanton, but he’d also not dwelled too long with those thoughts either. As such with the Englishman now eager beneath him, he felt much like an unproven stripling again; keen but lacking a clear notion of wants beyond ‘everything’. He settles for slanting his lips over the younger man’s, reveling in the scorch of weapons’ rough hands along his ribs through his thobe and the twitch of his English’s cock causing an echoing throb in his own.

The aleawd strands are soft between his fingers, the moan Yahya swallows from the other’s mouth as he deliberately tugs makes his blood burn low in his belly. He breaks their kiss to mouth along the younger man’s throat, teasing nips into corded muscle making the racing pulse jump with a stuttered gasped, “Oh, oh fuck me, Yahya…”

It’s been years since Yahya’s heard his name drenched in shameless desire, and he is unprepared for the easifat rih of warmth and possessiveness the sound whips up in him.

“ _Karar.”_ Again. Again, a hundred times again. The order from the training yard becomes Yahya’s demand in their bed. He had the flaring desire to hear his English a fervid wreck with nothing on his desperate tongue but Yahya’s name.

_“Karar, Matraba, karar.”_ He commands, releasing his hold on the younger man’s hair. Robin lets out a muffled groan, seeming to miss the rough touch, but quickly hisses through his teeth when the Moor’s hand forcefully grasps him through his braies to firmly stroke his prick. His Englishman’s hands scramble to fist his thobe, a shudder rolling through him as he frantically pants into the older man’s ear.

His mouth finds his English’s exposed throat while he stroked eliciting a frantic, “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

He feels the younger man become harder in his hand, body drawing tight. “Yahya, fuckin’ hell,” It was impossible to resist teasing the younger man, knowing how close he was, the Moor gentles his touch drawing a desperate, “fuck, please!”

Yahya was not a cruel lover, and his English had asked so pleasingly, he tightened his hand and felt Robin’s cock throb, “Yahya, God!”

He gave a practiced twist of his wrist and was rewarded with the sight of his English’s lovely lush mouth biting into his thumb, blue eyes clenched shut, a beautiful scream locked in that love bitten throat. He was so gorgeously close to breaking, trying so valiantly to not give them away, and yet, “How pretty you are, _Matraba_ ,” Yahya kissed the words up from the younger man’s exposed collarbones to rumble roughly in his ear, “such a sight, singing so sweetly. Aching,” he throws in a random squeeze and delights in the stifled moan it elicits.

“Such a shame you cannot sing properly for me.” Those charming eyes were open again, the pool blue a thin ring around passion glazed onyx, “But you will, won’t you?” His words are another command dressed in dark teasing tones, as his hand speeds up and his English’s breathing becomes more labored “You’ll do more than sing for me.” He presses the words into the other’s lips, not-quite-kisses as he feels the other man’s body quivering taunt, “My pretty _Matraba_ , you will _scream_.”

And Robin does, silently. So stunningly that Yahya burns watching him; lightning fire licking through his veins, stoked rather than doused watching his English beautifully break apart.

He badly wants to take his own pleasure in the other, is at near madness with wanting it, but he does not. His English is staring up at him now, mouth agape, eyes still glazed, the trembling beginning in his limbs. Yahya knows this state, it will not dissipate quickly, and it will have robbed the younger man of every bit of sense he does and does not have. While the Moor would like nothing more than to quench his thirst in the other’s body, he wants his English an enthusiastic bed partner.

His hand is barely sticky from the younger’s spend and is easily wiped on the other’s leg. Yahya mouths gentle kisses to his English’s temple, hand running down to untie the braies and tug them loose. Robin does not resist as he removes the soiled garment, nor when the older man quickly cleans him up. Despite their recent enjoyment Yahya resists looking, again wanting the pleasure for when his English is in a proper state to experience the admiration. Still, he is pleased. He had always enjoyed being able to render his partner senseless, and he hopes Robin will indulge him to do so again. There is satisfaction in undoing a bed partner.

Once Yahya is satisfied with both their cleanliness, he goes to stand from the bedrolls only to be stopped by clutching fingers at his sleeve. Those unseeing eyes gaining a small amount of clarity, enough to communicate Robin’s need for Yahya to stay and his worry that Moor won’t. With a gentle hold, he firmly releases Robin’s hand from his thobe and soothes, “I am only going to retrieve you some drink, I will return to you quickly.” An owlish blink but no distress allows him to move to the far side of their tent and retrieve the skin of clean water he keeps for wounds and nighttime thirst. As the older man settles back onto the bedrolls, he uncaps the top bringing the spout to his English’s mouth with a slow tilt and the quiet, firm order, “Drink.”

A goodly number of gulps has him satisfied for now, leaving him to maneuver he and Robin beneath their shared blankets and quilts. Usually it is Robin that presses into his side, but Yahya knows in this state it is best that he envelope the younger man in a close embrace. So, he presses to Robin’s right side, his left leg draping over both of the other man’s, right arm beneath his own head while his left wraps securely around Robin’s shoulders. So close Yahya’s breathing ruffles against his English’s hair whose scent fills the Moor’s nose.

The younger man is already drifting off, his breathing even and his heartbeat slow. Yahya knows they will have more to talk of, perhaps tomorrow, perhaps later. But they will talk. He is not a man to make the same mistake twice and _inshallah_ this would not be the only night he would break apart his English, his lovely _Matraba_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic does NOT have a Beta and dyslexia is present, please be kind ^-^
> 
> Okay, I am extremely late in getting this third chapter up. That is all on me; school, family needs, life in general, and honestly a nasty case of writer’s block. So thank you all for your patience and wonderful words of support in the comments section! I have recently realized I live for comments; kudos are lovely and much adored as well, but I like the more direct interaction with you all that comments offer. So please feel free to comment, I really do enjoy your feedback!
> 
> Anyway, lots of Arabic in this chapter compared to the last two, or at least it seems that way for me. Definitions below as per usual. And to the native speakers of any variation of Arabic, I am deeply sorry because I know I’m messing up. I’m doing my best with Google and bugging my native speaking friends; limited bugging though, there is some stuff in here I just don’t want to explain. If you have a suggestion or correction, please do not hesitate; I can only get better if I’m told what I’m doing wrong.
> 
> Final thoughts; if you stuck around this long congrats to you, I’m beyond pleased with how much you all have enjoyed this fic and I hope you continue to. If you have something you’d like to see in the story please do comment; if I use it I will give you or whomever you’d like to dedicate it to a shout-out at the beginning of the chapter notes. Ya know, so you don’t have to go digging through all my footnotes :)
> 
> Sedir: A multi-use wide padded ‘bench’, used for sitting during the day and sleeping on at night. Homes across the Middle East did and still use them, though they aren’t a 100% guarantee like European style beds are. In smaller dwellings the sedirs are usually built into the main entertaining room of the house along the walls below any windows. This entertaining room was still present in richer houses but there would also be sedirs in the private sleeping quarters that functioned roughly the same as in the smaller homes; general sitting during the day, made up for sleeping at night.
> 
> Aleawd: Arabic for aegar wood. This wood is a mottled medium to dark brown, but it’s true value comes from the adored scent used for incense and perfume. This wood is prized throughout the middle east in both historic and modern times. I’m using it as a positive, and slightly romantic, descriptor much like how someone who is in lust/love would describe their lover as having mahogany, wheat, golden, copper, or jet hair. Is this a real term used in Middle Eastern cultures? Not that I’m aware of.
> 
> Easifat Rih: Arabic for windstorm, akin to a gale-force. Yahya is from a desert culture where yes water is important but having asked a few different types of Arabic speakers; they don’t have a direct comparison to ‘wave of emotion’. Granted how I’m using easifat rih, from what I know, isn’t common either but I like throwing in Arabic words, terms, and concepts to keep Yahya realistic. A few friends I have from mixed language/culture homes talk about mixing language/expressions in their minds that most clearly illustrate their feelings/thoughts; I believe Yahya would no doubt do the same.
> 
> Karar: Arabic for ‘repeat’ or ‘reiterate, iterate, duplicate, echo, renew’. I’m using it roughly as how an English speaker would use the term ‘again’ like ‘say it again’. From what I could find, Arabic does not have a single word that equates to all the meanings the English ‘again’ has. I chose karar because it was the closest word to be used how ‘again’ would be used in this situation. PS, ‘dirty talk’ or ‘sexy talk’ is SO damn culturally dependent that it is extremely hard to write; I’m not comfortable asking my Arabic speaking friends or a language teacher to explain how Arabic dirty talk works, plus the internet is dark and full of terrors so…we’re just gonna wing it until a native speaker volunteers to educate me. My deepest apologies to everyone until then.
> 
> Matraba: Arabic for ‘songbird’, also slang for ‘songstress, chanteuse, warbler’. I’m not sure in Arabic, but I know in English a ‘warbler’ is typically a male singer. In this case, it’s an endearment and play on Robin’s name mixed with the fact that Yahya seems to enjoy Robin’s voice in bed.
> 
> Inshallah: Arabic literal translation “God (Allah) willing”, but rarely used this literally. This term can be used as a ‘yes’, ‘no’, ‘maybe’, ‘God willing, I really hope so‘, ‘I have no idea’, as passive aggressive ‘no/maybe’ as in someone asks if you’re going to come do something and you say ‘inshallah’ but everyone knows you’re saying ‘yeah, no’, and even sometimes as a sort of threat akin to ‘God willing, you better hope your parents don’t find out!’ Yahya in this case uses it as a deeply wanted hope, so a bit more literal, but he can and probably will use it all the other ways as well as time goes on.
> 
> Thx for reading!  
> -J


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